


Dean Winchester, Dating Extraordinaire

by quiettewandering



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 + 1 Fic, Castiel in the Bunker, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New to the dating game, Dean is grudgingly open to suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester, Dating Extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

> To take a break from my current WIP angsty fic, I wrote fluff and probably gave myself a cavity from all the sweetness. 
> 
> In this story, nobody has died like they did in the show. Because this is fluff and happiness, damn it.
> 
> Chronicle reactions to this story below.

**1\. Sammy**

 

Kevin and Charlie were sitting at the bunker’s kitchen table, two mugs of hot Earl Grey tea sitting in front of them. The tendrils of steam rose and danced around each other. Charlie was slumped back into her chair, thumbing through the thick blue volume of The Elder Scrolls vs. Skyrim Official Game Guide. Kevin, opting to halt translation on the angel tablet not ten minutes earlier, was thumbing the screen of his phone to look for funny videos of dogs talking/dancing like humans.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

_Crash._

“Sam, goddamn it, I’m telling you to drop it, right now!”

Charlie and Kevin groaned.

Dean clamored into the kitchen, Sam hot on his heels. “Dean, it’s been a full year. Don’t you think it’s about time you grew a pair and did it?”

“Just shut your damn mouth, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I dated Jess for _years_ , I think I have a better track record than you when it comes to relationships--”

Slamming her book, Charlie snapped, “Winchesters!” They both whipped their heads to meet her icy stare. “What’s the situation?”

She held up her hand when they both began talking at once, words flopping over one another to get to her first. She snapped her fingers at the younger Winchester. “Sam, speak.”

Dean sputtered. Sam said dramatically, “Dean won’t take Cas out on a date.”

“Whaddaya mean, _won’t_ \--”

Charlie snatched a pencil off the table and threw it at him in one smooth arc. “Down, boy. Not your turn.”

Sam continued, “Since they’ve been in a relationship for a year, and Cas seems to like the traditional human practices we have here on Earth, I think Dean should take him out for a night.”

“But I don’t _do_ that kind of shit--” Dean began to protest.

Charlie flicked another pencil, hitting him square in the chin.

“Where are you finding these!?”

Barreling down into a chair next to Kevin (who had resolutely kept his eyes trained on his iPhone screen during the whole argument), Sam sighed, “Dean, you have to have seen that Cas has been a little down lately. This whole ‘being human’ thing is wearing him out. Don’t you think a night out would cheer him up?”

"But I--!" Dean began. Charlie threateningly held up another pencil. He said through clenched teeth, "I'll think about it."

Sam smiled, triumphant. "Great."

All parties present fumbled back to their original activities as Castiel walked into the room, holding a potted basil plant he was tending to, smiling in confusion.

***

“I don’t even know how to date,” Dean admitted to Sam while on their next hunt. They were crammed into a library computer kiosk in the town of Fargo, ND, looking up deaths that occurred at the old mill by the Red River over the past fifty years.

Sam looked up at his older brother, smiling wide. He knew that Dean would come around. “I have a few ideas.” 

***

Castiel opened his door to Dean’s knocking. Without so much as a “Hello, Dean”, Castiel grabbed his arm and yanked him into his room. His mouth met Dean’s in a heated frenzy, his body pressing into Dean’s as he ran his fingers through Dean's hair.

“Cas…” Dean gasped, cradling his face in his hands, pulling him back to get his attention. “Cas, can we talk?”

“Later, Dean,” Castiel growled, pushing Dean to the bed. “You have been gone for three days. I wish you to be naked.”

Dean laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor, previous nervousness fading. “Yes, sir.”

Many layers of clothes peeling later, both Castiel and Dean were without a stitch of clothing, pressing into each other, breathing each other’s air as Dean whispered words of adoration to bring Castiel to climax. Dean watched his face as his pupils blew wide, breath stuttering, collapsing onto Dean’s chest after he finished with a groan. Dean followed soon after, and they both lay against each other in sweat and sticky fluids, sighing contentedly.

Castiel raised his head and smiled at Dean, now pliant and calm. “What did you want to talk about, Dean?”

His face instantly colored. He stared at the ceiling, clearing his throat. “Um… well, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a, um… a date.”

He couldn’t see his lover, but he knew that Castiel’s eyes were wide and wondering. “A date?” he echoed.

“Yup. That’s what I said.”

“....What does one do on a date?”

Dean couldn’t stop the grin that stretched his face at Castiel’s bewildered tone. He pushed a loose strand of hair out of Castiel’s soft blue eyes. “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

Castiel carefully stroked patterns into Dean’s chest with the tips of his fingers, smiling. “I can’t wait.”

Dean gently grabbed Castiel’s wrist, squirming under his touch. “Um, Cas… we talked about this. It tickles when you do that.”

Castiel buried his face into the nape of Dean’s neck, hot with perspiration. “I apologize, Dean,” he said, not sorry at all.

***

The date was a disaster.

Dean had taken Sam’s suggestion down to every detail. After their next hunt in Kansas City was drawn to a close, Dean and Cas stayed behind to have dinner at one of its fancier steak houses. Dean used the falsely acquired credit card to buy him and Cas suits. He even made reservations.

The drive to the restaurant was fine enough; Castiel leaned his elbow against the shoulder of Dean’s seat, absentmindedly stroking his hair as Dean explained to Castiel what types of rareity one can order from steak.

In the restaurant, the sheer high formality of the place made Dean’s hair stand on edge. He followed Castiel and the waiter to their seats with a defensive pose, hand subconsciously to his belt for his gun he didn't have, shifting his eyes between the faces of all the dolled-up customers. He took his seat at the table, but not before checking under the tablecloth by Castiel’s chair to make sure nothing was sneaking around under there.

A few minutes later Castiel said with a shade of irritation, “Dean.”

Dean looked up innocently after coughing “Christo” as their waiter walked by. “Yeah, Cas?”

“I’m not clear on the guidelines of how dates are meant to be, but you’re acting strange.”

“There’s something about this place,” Dean shuddered, glancing around at the dim lights on the tables, the pristinely white tablecloths, the heavy silver forks. “There’s something different about it.”

“You mean that it’s not a fifty-cent-coffee-diner?” Castiel deadpanned. His sarcasm was improving with human age.

Dean's discomfort only became worse after their food arrived. Even after years of wielding machetes, the Colt, daggers, even briefly an angel blade, Dean couldn’t cut his own damn steak. He spent at least five minutes maneuvering around the thick slab of meat while Castiel calmly cut his own into small pieces, popping them into his mouth.

The waiter returned, wide-eyed when he witnessed Dean’s tragically useless attempts. “Oh...sir,” he fumbled, “I forgot to give you a steak knife. I apologize. I’ll be right back.”

Dean stared at Castiel. He waved his butter knife in the air. “You didn’t bother to say anything?”

“You were very determined. I didn’t want to impede your progress,” Castiel said supportively behind his wine glass.

 

**2\. Charlie**

 

“We didn’t even have sex,” Dean complained to Charlie the next night, his legs thrown over her lap. Her laptop was propped open in front of the couch on the table, playing Firefly's last aired episode. “Aren’t dates supposed to end with sex?”

“Maybe Cas was thinking you wouldn’t get it up because you were acting so nervous through the whole night,” Charlie giggled.

“I wasn’t nervous.”

“Oh, so cutting your steak with a butter knife isn’t a mistake a nervous person would make?”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, taking a generous sip of his Jack Daniels. “I should’ve known better than to take Sammy’s suggestions.”

“Suggestion _s_? What else did he suggest?”

“Uh… nothin’.”

Charlie shoved his legs off her, bouncing up and down on the couch. “C’mon, c’mon, juicy details!”

“He, uh…. Sam said that big romantic gestures were good to do, and that Cas would like ‘em. So, before the dinner I talked to the restaurant host, and, well…”

“OH MY GOD DID YOU PROPOSE,” Charlie howled, whacking him with a couch pillow over and over, wildly windmill-kicking her legs into his side.

“No! _Jesus_ woman let me tell my damn story!” Dean cleared his throat pointedly as Charlie sat impatiently with her arms and legs clutching the pillow to her chest. “I talked to the host before we got our seats, and had them bring out a really fancy dessert without Cas hearing me order it. It was this chocolate lava cake thing, but they poured some rum on the top so when they brought it out it was on fire and shit, to make it look fancy--”

“Oh no.”

“--and Cas saw it from across the room and didn’t get it--”

“Oh _no.”_

“--and as they were bringing it toward us he freaked out and grabbed me and threw me out of the way and tackled the waiter carrying it.”

“What!” Charlie squeaked.

“He thought it was some sort of weapon.”

“ _What.”_

“He didn’t get it. He thought we were under attack.” Dean groaned at the memory, massaging his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “The tablecloth at the table next to us caught fire. We left right after that.”

“Well, no wonder you didn’t get any, Winchester, he’s probably embarrassed!”

Dean groaned again, hitting the back of his head on the couch, closing his eyes. “I traumatized him. He’ll never want to go on a date again, with me or anyone else.”

“You just gotta replace the bad memory with a new, quirky, fun one. I have the perfect place you can take him.”

Logically, he knew that taking any more suggestions for a date would be a potentially bad idea. But he didn’t want Cas’s last date experience to be one where they almost committed arson. Ever since his angel became human, Dean made it his sole duty to give Castiel every positive mortal experience he could. Opening one eye, he asked Charlie tentatively, “What?”

***

The restaurant was called Space Aliens.

It was Charlie’s favorite place to go--in an ironic way.

Dean was reassured by Charlie that Castiel, also quirky himself sometimes, would get it.

He didn’t.

Getting ripped up by hellhounds was less painful than the stabbing awkwardness of the date Dean experienced that night.

Kids ran around their table screaming, the floors were caked with glow-in-the-dark glitter and green streamers from a previous birthday party, Castiel stared apprehensively at the giant alien statue in the entrance doorway most of the night, and Dean got sick with salmonella poisoning from his hamburger.

***

Sam attempted to comfort him later as Dean lay in bed with a bucket perched on his chest (after he didn’t make it to the bathroom in time to throw up the contents of him stomach the last couple of times). “So you had two strike outs. That’s fine! It’s not an out until strike three. You got another chance.”

“No baseball analogies,” Dean whined to the ceiling. “No anything analogies. Leave me to die.”

Sam patted his leg reassuringly. “I know you’ve been worried about it, so I talked to Cas. He said that he doesn’t mind that the date wasn’t what you intended, and he just wants you to get better.”

“The hell, Sammy!” Dean sat up marginally to glare at his brother over the rim of his puke bucket. “I’m not worried! It’s not like he’s going to ‘break up’ with me or anything because I can’t seem to date for shit.” He took a pause. “Right?”

Sam chuckled, ruffling Dean’s matted hair. “No, princess, he’s not going to break up with you. You two will be together for a very long time. Possibly forever.”

"Oh, come on, forever?”

“What, you’ve never thought about marriage?”

Dean’s face instantly covered in a hot blush, and he thought very hard to not think about that one time that he walked into a pawn shop three months ago, casually looking around for a ring that may or may not look good on Cas's left ring finger. “What kind of a question is that!” he tried to growl out, it coming out a higher-pitched squack instead.

Sam clasped him on the shoulder, looking him very seriously in the eye. “Dean, I’m your brother. I know you so well I even know what your 'I need to pee' face looks like. You want to ask Cas. And that’s great. I support it.”

“It’s none of your business!” Dean hollered, embarrassment reaching new altitudes.

Sam patted his cheek. “Happy for you, big brother. He’s coming to check on you in a few minutes so, hey, maybe you can ask him then in between throwing up your burger and your pie.”

As Dean sputtered protests, Sam left through the doorway, grinning, completely ecstatic with the opportunity to turn the tables and tease his brother. Cas came into Dean’s room minutes later and replaced Sam’s spot on the bed beside Dean. He was dressed in a sweatpants and a harried look. “How are you?” he asked, eyebrows knitted and lips downturned into a concerned frown.

All it took was one look at Castiel, and Dean felt the anger and worry and embarrassment deflate from him. “Just fine, Cas,” he promised, reaching for his hand and stringing their fingers together.

“I miss sleeping next to you,” Castiel admitted. He stroked careful circles into the skin of Dean’s hand.

“Tickles, Cas,” Dean murmured, pushing his hand away gently.

Castiel's eyes sparkled at him, like sun skidding across the ocean's surface. “I apologize.”

They stared at each other a moment, soft smiles mirroring each other’s faces. Dean felt better in that moment than he had in the last twenty-four hours without Castiel by his side. “Come on,” he said, scooting to one side of the bed and patting the other. “I have at least twenty minutes before I throw up the ginger-ale Sammy gave me. You can take a nap by me. But, fair warning, I stink.”

Castiel eagerly laid next to him in the bed, tightly winding himself into Dean’s side, arms enveloping him. “I don’t mind,” he promised, landing a delicate kiss onto Dean’s flushed cheek.

 

**3\. Kevin**

 

Dean had stopped not one, but two, potential apocalypses. He stared the Devil--hell, _shot_ the Devil--in the face, survived forty years in Hell, salted and burned more poltergeists and ghosts than he has eaten cheap burgers. The world may not know it, but he was a goddamn soldier and survivor.

Surely he could take his boyfriend--lover, significant other, partner, bff, _whatever_ \--on a third date.

He took Kevin’s suggestion. It sounded good, in theory. Some of the top orchestra members in the Kansas City Symphony was playing an outdoor chamber concert in the park, a four hour drive from the bunker. The stage was a white gazebo covered in vines and lights, the audience sprawled onto blankets and lawn chairs in the park. Dean packed a paper bag of sandwiches, beers, and potato salad. Romantic. Simple.

They arrived after an amiable Impala ride together, and settled onto the ground. Dean forgot a blanket or chairs, not realizing that there would be none provided--but this was no problem. Castiel and he were tough people, ganking vampires and werewolves and such as their occupation, after all. They could sit on the grass for a couple of hours without fuss.

The music was boring--Dean never found classical music interesting in any way. Castiel was intrigued, eyes wide as he stared at the instrumentalists. He asked Dean how humans can finely move their fingers in such a way. And how that violinist can decide the precise position her fingers go to make the notes in tune, when there are no indications on the fingerboard on where to place them?

Dean was bored with the performance, but he leaned back onto his elbows and let himself enjoy the way that Castiel lit up with questions after every piece was finished, how he reached down halfway through the performance to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. He usually did this without much thought; it was a natural reaction to being in Dean’s presence. Just like Dean didn’t notice when he himself absent-mindedly picked at the hem of Castiel’s shirt, trailing his fingers up and down Castiel’s side.

But, the curse of the dates was still upon them, and something just had to go south.

Castiel gave a surprised cry when his hand, lying innocently in the grass, was stepped on by a huge boot. This huge boot belonged to a huge man and his equally huge friends. Dean stood up and demanded that he apologize while Castiel cradled his hurt hand, trying to tell Dean that it wasn’t a problem, he was fine, let's move on from it. The man didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a “pansy” like Dean, so he said in so many words. He leaned down toward Castiel and asked jeeringly if his boyfriend always defended his honor, and if this is because Castiel himself is too much of a girl to fight his own fights?

Dean the pansy responded by punching him squarely in the jaw.

Police were called to break up the fight, but Castiel dragged Dean (yelling curses and insults back at the men the entire way) to the Impala before they arrived, shoving him into the passenger seat and driving away from the park.

“Was that really necessary, Dean?” Castiel demanded as he handed Dean his flannel. Dean pressed it to the bleeding corner of his eye so as not to get blood all over his Baby’s seats.

“Nobody can insult you and get away with it,” Dean grumbled. He thinks a few of his fingers might be broken.

His ex-angel muttered something about the consequences of having an excess of testosterone under his breath. The ride home was significantly quiet.

***

Dean woke to his bedroom door creaking at its hinges. He heard soft footsteps pad toward his bed. He felt a familiar body tuck himself under the covers and mould into Dean’s back, clasping him around the waist.

“Why does everything have to be a fight?” Castiel murmured into his shoulder.

“They insulted you.”

“It didn’t matter. They were just being dicks. No reason to instigate anything.”

Dean grinned at the increasing frequency of Castiel swearing. He turned his head enough to seek out Castiel’s eyes. “Cas, I'm always going to be ready to fight when it comes to you. I’m always gonna defend you when I need to, and I’m not going to let anyone push you around.”

He could see the glint of amusement in Castiel’s eyes. “Dean, I can take care of myself. Do I need to remind you I was once an angel of the Lord?”

“Doesn’t matter, Cas. When you love someone you fight tooth and nail for ‘em. No matter what it is.” He briefly pressed his lips to Castiel’s cool forehead. “Even if the person you love once was a celestial bad-ass.”

“Once was?”

“Well, now you're a human bad-ass.”

“I see. Thank you, Dean.” He tucked his chin against his shoulder, holding him closer. “Thank you taking care of me.”

Dean nodded, stopping his thought from being said out loud: that all he ever wanted to do was take care of Cas.

So, a fourth date just had to be attempted.

 

**4\. Bobby**

 

Dean picked up the incoming call at the second ring. “Hey, Bobby. Listen, glad you called. Sam and I got this case that--”

“Heard you need dating advice,” Bobby cut in gruffly, sounding about as uncomfortable as Dean felt.

“Uh, what?”

“Sam called. Said you needed some fatherly advice. And, well, your old man’s dead so you're stuck with me.”

“Uh, yeah, Bobby, that’s great, but… I got it covered.”

“Boy, by the sounds of things, you got ‘disaster’ covered and nothin’ else.”

“I’m trying, okay!” Dean argued down the receiver. “People ain’t exactly throwing around the best suggestions around here.”

“Maybe you should stop taking suggestions and do your own damn thing.”

“I can’t, Bobby, I don’t know shit about dating. Life on the road and all that, remember? My only version of dating until now was chowing on some burgers during stake-outs with Sammy. I need all the help I can get.”

Bobby sighed loudly into the phone. “Fine. If you insist. I’ll tell you what I think.”

That night, Dean tried Bobby’s surrogate fatherly advice. Casual and simple, is what he said, and outlined the best way to do it. Following Bobby’s instruction, Dean cracked open a couple of beers, popped two bags of popcorn, pulled Cas from studiously reading a book in the library to his room, and settled them both down on the bed with Sam’s laptop in front of them. Dean downloaded Die Hard illegally. Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder as he kept stealing popcorn from his bag.

Sam passed by the half-open door of Dean’s room during the last hour of the movie. “Not a date," he called out to them as he went into his own room. "Not even close." 

Castiel stared at Dean incredulously. “Dean, this was a date?”

Dean groaned and hit his head against the headboard repetitively until Castiel made him stop, commenting that such an action would probably give him a concussion.

 

**5\. The Internet**

 

Dean turned to his last known hope. He snuck Sam’s laptop out of his brother’s room in the dead of the night into the library, taking five minutes to find the internet browser, taking another five to type in the correct keywords without porn popping up to smack him in the eyes. He found the page _Top 50 Date Night Ideas of All Time._ He clicked and scrolled through.

“‘Have brunch’?” he muttered as he read. “‘Be silly?...’Learn to dance’?...What the hell is all this crap... and there’s a photo gallery? Why the hell would there be a gallery?!”

“Dean?”

He shut the laptop with a loud snap and looked up guiltily at a pajama-clad Castiel, who was rubbing the sleep out of the eyes. “Uh, hey Cas.”

At his sheepish tone, Castiel turned from drowsy to sharp-eyed. “Were you watching porn again?”

“What--no!”

“You know how Sam dislikes the diseases it gives his computer when you do.”

“They're called viruses, Cas, but yeah, I know, I know.”

Casiel stumbled over to Dean, still half-asleep. He settled down onto his lap, gripping the front of his shirt and pressing his forehead against Dean’s. He wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist and the back of the chair. Dean suppressed a groan of pleasure when the action had him feeling Castiel’s half-hard length against his. “Come back to bed,” he encouraged, threading the side of Dean’s face with chaste kisses.

“Okay, Cas…” Dean sighed contentedly as Castiel pressed his mouth against his, tongue seeking entrance. As he kissed him, the knot in his stomach unravelled. This was all he wanted. To hold Cas and kiss Cas and feel Cas press up against him. He didn’t care where the hell he was or what the hell they were doing.

But he’d try one more suggestion. For Castiel, because this sleepy, sweet man with bed-head sticking up in all different directions that he admittedly fell a little in love with over the past few years deserved all the happiness that Dean could possibly throw at him.

The all-wise and all-knowing Internet had told him to take Castiel to something vivacious and exciting to spice up their life. Something such as an amusement park. Dean found one a couple hours away and took Castiel there.

Dean threw up on one of the rollercoasters. Castiel discovered his love for snow cones, ate five, and also threw up on a rollercoaster. They lay in bed that night, still feeling the dizzying and unpleasant feeling they got from dropping suddenly down a rickety fifty-foot rail. Castiel lamented over the fact that blue-colored snow cones were ruined for him forever. Dean lamented over the fact that these failed dates had caused him and Cas to not have sex for a whole month.

 

**+1. Dean puts on his big boy pants and does it himself**

 

Dean was up to here with the fact that no one around him seemed capable of giving good dating advice. Even after they all insisted he do it in the first place, damn them. So Dean grabbed Sam’s laptop out from underneath him and began typing into Google furiously, kicking Sam out of the way as he protested. He scribbled an address located in Lebanon down on a piece of paper. He slammed cabinets in the kitchen as he furiously made two burgers complete with all the toppings Cas liked the best. He grabbed the thick plaid blanket he recently bought from Walmart off his bed, shoving it roughly into a duffel bag along with the container of burgers. He found Castiel reading in the bunker’s upstairs observatory, and pushed him out the door without any verbal explanation.

Ten minutes and twenty questions from Castiel later, they were parked in a cluster of cars in front of a huge fabric screen stretched out between two trees.

Dean finally turned to Castiel’s questioning face, announcing, “This is a date.”

“Okay, Dean.”

“This is called a drive-in movie theater. We’re gonna sit in our car, eat the burgers I made, and watch a movie. Then we’re going to drive somewhere and make out and it can lead to sex if you want--” (please God let it lead to sex, Dean’s pent-up libido prayed ferverently) “--but it’s all going to go well and it’s all going to be _fine._ ”

Castiel nodded dutifully. “Yes, Dean. It will all be fine.”

“Good.”

The movie was _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_. Dean had no qualms at all that it was girly. He found George Peppard’s character very relatable, having to grapple with Holly, whose quirk reminded him much of Cas in his truly spacy moments. They ate the burgers, Castiel laughing and kissing the ketchup off of Dean’s chin when his burger missed his mouth. Dean patted Castiel’s back consolingly when he cried out in protest about Audrey Hepburn leaving her cat at the side of the road in the rain. Nodding his agreement when they found Cat in the end and the two lovers finally united, he turned to Dean as the credits rolled. “They really loved each other, didn’t they, despite their differences?”

He nodded, running a thumb against Castiel’s neck where his hand clasped it. “Yeah, Cas, they did.”

Dean cleaned up the remnants of their food, pulled Baby into gear, and rolled out of the parking lot. They drove for a few miles out of Lebanon until Dean found a patch of thick trees against the gravelly country road. He parked Baby off-road in the clearing, killing the engine but the battery remaining on. He pulled out Castiel's favorite fruity wine cooler, a beer for himself, and a casette tape. He popped it into the tape deck. Castiel’s eyes widened at the song that played, unfamiliar to the context of the Impala but familiar to him. Ella Fitzgerald’s sultry voice fuzzily played through the speakers.

“Dean, this is one of my favorite songs,” he said in confusion.

“I know.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… made a cassette of all your favorite stuff, since I know you don’t like the stuff I usually play.”

Castiel stared bemusedly at the tape deck, unsure of how to respond to the gesture. “Dean…”

“C’mon, let’s go outside,” he encouraged, quickly swinging open the door and bolting the potential 'feelings' moment.

On the hood of the Impala, music drifting from the open windows, Castiel and Dean silently tended to their drinks. Occassionally Castiel would break the silence to point out a cluster of stars that he recognized in the sky. He described how he witnessed the birth of said constellation in front of his very celestial eyes. Dean wondered how Castiel could possibly be satisfied with life on Earth, things so finite and small, when he once experienced the large and the infinite.

“Dean, do you know how to dance?” Castiel asked suddenly, turning to him as Dean gulped down the rest of his beer.

“Uh, actually, yeah,” Dean admitted, peeling the label, wet with condensation, off his beer. “Senior year of high school. One of the towns we rolled into, there was this pretty brunette I wanted to impress when I took her to prom. So I taught myself how.”

Castiel set his wine cooler down against the Impala’s hood. “Will you teach me?”

Not wanting to deprive Castiel of any possible human experience, Dean swallowed his pride and jumped down from the Impala, gesturing for Cas to come into his arms. He carefully taught Castiel the basic step pattern of a waltz, their boots knocking into each others' clumsily. Castiel caught on quickly, and when a jazz number came onto the tape, Dean changed the rhythm of the dance into a swing. They knocked into each other, laughing at themselves, and sobered back into a gentle four-step pattern when an easy Billie Holiday tune came floating through the windows.

They swayed silently. Wind gushed through the trees. They pressed closer to each other for warmth. The grass crunched hesitantly underneath their feet with every step. Dean leaned his head against Castiel’s, closing his eyes against the rush of emotion he felt with Castiel’s cheek against his, somehow more intimate than when they lied naked together after the heat of sex.

Dean didn’t know moments where he was more peaceful.

That night, Castiel was on point with out-of-the-blue questions. “Dean, when did you first start loving me?”

He rumbled a low chuckle into Castiel’s hair. “Why do you ask?”

“Charlie and I were watching a ‘staple movie classic’, she called it… the Sound of Music. The two main characters of romantic interest asked each other when each first started loving the other. It made me wonder when you did.”

He swayed Castiel lazily to the left, then the right, breathing into his shoulder. The night air was crisp and he smelled their familiar laundry soap in Castiel’s shirt, mixed in with his quintessential soft and sharp Castiel smell. Home. “Hmm. Well, Cas, I definitely wasn’t feelin’ the love when I stuck that knife in you during our first meeting.”

“I remember that fondly,” Castiel replied.

Dean tipped back his head and laughed. “I dunno, Cas...when was yours?”

“I will tell you mine when you tell me yours.”

“All right, all right.” Dean took a moment to think as his hands made trails up and down Castiel’s sides. “Okay, I got it. Remember when we were on that hunt together? When Sam was MIA?” Castiel hummed an agreement. “I think it was when…” Dean chuckled at the memory. “I think it was when you pulled that FBI badge out upside down.”

Castiel laughed softly into Dean’s ear. “Really?”

“Yeah. It was so...cute," the adjective slipped out of Dean's mouth faster than he could catch up, "of course I couldn’t tell you that at the time… But it was so goddamn endearing, whenever you did spacey stuff like that from then on, I always got this stupid feeling in my gut. I realized later what it was, but damn did it take me years.”

“You did need to come to terms with your sexuality first,” Castiel said very gravely.

“All right, wise-ass, what was your moment?”

Castiel continued to sway with Dean, dancing half-heartedly even though the cassette had long run out of tape and the only sounds were cicadas and snatches of blaring truck horns from the far-off highway. “Before you tortured Alastair. I knew that I did not want you to do it. I felt it so strongly but I still felt the pull of duty from Heaven. And I truly would have given anything for you not to do it… even my own safety. I realized after you went into that room, that I did want to risk my life to keep you from being in pain ever again.” Castiel leans back from Dean, clasping a hand to his neck. “It was a feeling I had never experienced. I did not know it was love until later speculation, but it was. The knowledge that I held your life above my own. It was what caused me to rebel, to die, to bleed for you.”

Dean ducked his head to hide his blush. “Geez, Cas… pretty sure this was supposed to be a happy moment,” he muttered.

Castiel grasped either sides of Dean’s face, tilting his eyes up to meet his. “This is a happy moment, Dean. This is a happy date. I'm very happy. I can’t think of anything better.” He leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Dean’s. “I think I would prefer your suggestions of dates from here on, rather than other’s opinions.”

Chuckling softly, Dean said, “Sure, Cas. We can do that.”

They stared at each other one more moment, their orbits unconsciously gravitating toward each other. Their kisses began languidly, without rush; Dean pushing his leg into Castiel’s eager erection ignited the fire that led them to the backseat of the Impala, Dean exploring every square inch of Castiel’s skin as if it was the first time he ever beheld it, Castiel whispering Dean's name lovingly into his hair as he carefully pushed into him and glided to his own release. Castiel’s careful mouth and inquiring hands had Dean following soon after.

Breathing heavy, limbs tangled, Castiel stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean whispered against the sheening skin of his angel's chest, “Marry me." He pressed careful kisses against Castiel's chest, against the soft, round curve of his shoulder. "Then we can have a whole lifetime of good and terrible dates.”

Castiel’s smile was brighter than the stars above them. He sealed a kiss onto the top of Dean’s head. “All right, Dean.”   

* * *

 


End file.
